


Practicality and Manipulation: A Love Story

by Lavavulture



Series: The Sea Is Changeless (But People Are Not Fish) [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Romance, Background Cassandra/Varric - Freeform, Background Cole/Iron Bull - Freeform, Background Dorian/Male Inquisitor - Freeform, F/M, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavavulture/pseuds/Lavavulture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morrigan wants to get married.  Everybody else is just along for the ride.</p><p>Or,</p><p>The epic tale of how the brave and handsome King Alistair and the beautiful and mysterious Witch of the Wilds found love in the face of all obstacles (despite themselves and with help from the Inquisition).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side story in my [The Sea Is Changeless (But People Are Not Fish)](http://archiveofourown.org/series/234588) series, but it's not necessary to read all of that unless you want to know why Cole and Iron Bull are making out. 
> 
> When I first played Dragon Age: Origins years ago, all I wanted was to make Morrigan and Alistair smash their stupid mouths together for all of time. Thank you, fanfiction!

When the bards later told the tale of how the beautiful and mysterious Witch of the Wilds came to marry the handsome and brave King Alistair of Ferelden, they would start when the Inquisition marched to Denerim with Lady Morrigan and Divine Victoria flanking the Herald of Andraste. They would say how Morrigan’s eyes shone like the sun and when King Alistair saw her great beauty again after so many years, he knew that it was the Maker’s will that had returned to him his lost love and their child, conceived in desperate passion the night the Hero of Ferelden ended the Fifth Blight. 

When Varric would tell the tale, with a sharp grin on his face that he would throw over to his frowning wife, he would start much earlier. He would start when Morrigan burst into the main hall of Skyhold, escorted like a lady should be by an oddly subdued Iron Bull.

“I’ve a boon to ask of you, Inquisitor.” Morrigan stood before the Herald of Andraste’s Throne, proud and straight-backed. Iron Bull marched up past her and came to a stop next to Varric, who had just been trying to get Lavellan to stop making gooey eyes at Dorian and sign a paper already. “I’ve need to marry.”

Lavellan stared at Morrigan for a long moment. Everyone stared. Blinking beside him Dorian could only reach out a proprietary hand to his shoulder and fix Morrigan with the haughtiest look his handsome face could muster.

“I imagine that I am flattered, Lady Morrigan, but I’m not looking for a wife at this time.” Lavellan formed a temple with his fingers and leaned back in his chair. He glanced over at Josephine. “I suppose I must apologize?”

“Ah. You misunderstand my wish.” Morrigan paused a moment, considering. “Although you are a fearful power and you do surround yourself with near equal power.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the main hall as Morrigan weighed her options, eyeing the members of the Inner Circle that were currently near the Inquisitor. Iron Bull squared his shoulders when she looked at him, preening despite himself. Finally she shook her head. “No. ‘Tis better to stay with a known problem than risk some new complication. I will marry the Fereldan King.”

“King Alistair?” Josephine’s feather skittered across her parchment. “You’re going to marry King Alistair?”

“Yes,” Morrigan said with certainty. “However I need your help, Inquisitor, if I’m to accomplish this.”

Lavellan and Dorian turned their heads to each other. Suddenly Dorian smirked and Lavellan nodded before leaning forward.

“This does sound interesting. I’m listening.”

 

However it truly started a little bit earlier.

Iron Bull followed his nose around the corner of the tavern and found Cole carefully placing a sweet-smelling pie on top of one of the training dummies tucked into the dark shadows. He watched him for a brief second before pushing up behind him, grabbing his waist and wrist.

“Did you lure me back here with pie?” Iron Bull rumbled into Cole’s ear.

“You like pie,” Cole said. He sounded so genuinely pleased by his observation that Iron Bull knew he hadn’t had an ulterior motive like anybody else in the world would have. He clearly just thought Iron Bull would be happy to find pie in a hidden corner. Which of course he would have been. 

That kind of selflessness deserved a reward so Iron Bull forewent the pie in order to corral Cole against the wall of the tavern and kiss him. Cole clung like a limpet to him as he returned the kiss, fierce and sweet in equal measures.

This might have gone on for quite some time, perhaps far past when the pie had grown cold and unappetizing, if Iron Bull hadn’t heard a pronounced cough beside him.

He thought for a second that it was Cassandra, come to steal one of the dummies after massacring all of her own, but instead he saw a woman he thought he’d never see again.

Lady Morrigan. The Witch of the Wilds. The Hero of Ferelden’s companion during the Fifth Blight and Empress Celene’s former court mage. The woman he’d dreamt about nightly for two solid months after he saw her transform into a dragon and battle Corypheus’s archdemon.

Iron Bull gaped at her as she raised one sleek eyebrow and coughed again. He realized that he still had Cole wedged against the wall of the tavern, one of his massive thighs pressed up between his long legs like the promise it had been.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your diversions but I’m hopeful that you can keep watch over my son while I discuss business with your Inquisitor.” Morrigan placed one slender hand on the shoulder of the boy Iron Bull realized was standing beside her, his eyes wide and curious on them. Iron Bull also realized that she was talking directly to Cole.

“Yes, I will,” Cole said, seemingly unruffled by the fact that Morrigan had appeared in Skyhold after almost two years and asked him to babysit her kid. Cole came close to the boy—Kieran, if Iron Bull was remembering right—and held out his hand limply.

Kieran looked at Cole’s hand and then up at his mother, who nodded slightly. Only then did he reach his hand out and place it in Cole’s heavily bandaged hand. As they begin to walk away, Iron Bull could hear Kieran ask Cole a question.

“My grandmother looks different now in my dreams and says that you know why. Do you?”

“Yes,” Cole said.

“Ah,” Kieran said and fell silent. They went farther and Iron Bull could only faintly hear him. “Grandmother said that you know my other grandmother. Can I meet her?”

“Yes.” 

Morrigan pursed her luscious lips a bit in irritation and Iron Bull was vividly aware that they were nearly alone in a dark corner. He rolled his shoulders and tried to look casual. 

“So, what business do you have with the Inquisitor?” 

“My own,” Morrigan said archly. She held out her hand. “Will you take me to him?”

After a moment Iron Bull realized what she wanted and held out his arm so that she could place her fine-fingered hand on top of it. Her skin was almost unnaturally warm and tougher than he would have expected it to be.

Tough like a dragon’s hide. Iron Bull pushed down all of his glee and wondered if Cole was listening in on it. His demon would be almost as pleased as he was that he was enjoying himself, even if it was because of his attraction to someone else. Actually he would probably be more pleased. Cole didn’t have a firm grip on the concept of jealousy and he was always happiest when other people were happy.

“I’ve not met many Qunari in my journeys. In my youth I did spend a year traveling with one, however.” Morrigan eyed Iron Bull’s head curiously. “He had not your impressive horns. In truth, he had no horns at all. Is it like baldness with human men?”

“No,” Iron Bull said too quickly because the beautiful dragon-woman was talking to him about the Arishok like he was some sort of regular dirt farmer and he couldn’t believe this was really happening. “It’s pretty rare. Like red hair.”

Now he was picturing Morrigan with red hair and honestly he was starting to feel like the sooner they got to the inside of the keep the better because he was going to pass out.

“Ah, so Sten was an odd creature even among the Qunari. I suspected as much.” Morrigan grinned a secret little smirk at Iron Bull and he smirked back without really knowing why.

Thankfully they entered the main hall then and Iron Bull was able to walk over to Varric’s side without tripping over himself like an adolescent discovering his body for the first time with a Tamassran. 

 

Leliana didn’t know if it was possible to die from laughing but if she did she would go blessing the Maker for giving her such a happy last few moments. Morrigan glowered at her from across the desk in Leliana’s tower. She’d kept the tower and Skyhold as her base of operations after she became the Divine. She’d found that the most wonderful thing about being the Divine was that if she said she felt like something was absolutely necessary—such as holding court in a raven-filled tower—everyone else had to pretend like it was fine, at least to her face.

“I am pleased that you have found your spirits relaxed once again now that you’re most powerful woman in Thedas. You were so much more responsible when last we met. ‘Twas most disconcerting.” Morrigan raised one of her thin eyebrows at Leliana, who tried to contain her laughter long enough to reply.

“I cannot help myself, Morrigan, you are simply too funny.” Leliana wiped a tear from her eye and smiled gently at Josephine behind Morrigan. “Lady Morrigan is certainly playing a little joke on us all, Josie.”

“I will marry Alistair and I will do it with or without your help,” Morrigan snapped and then collected herself. “I would prefer with, however.”

“You are serious?” Leliana sank into the plush chair she’d allowed herself as an indulgence after she’d ascended the Sunburst Throne. “But why?”

“’Tis not so strange. As a woman ages, she longs for security and comfort. My mother spent her twilight years in a shack in the swamp. I’ve no wish to follow her example.” 

Leliana lifted her eyes to Lavellan, standing at Morrigan’s side with an amused expression on his pale face. “And you’ve agreed to help her with this?”

Lavellan coughed slightly. “Lady Morrigan did help the Inquisition save the entire world. If she wants to marry some shem king, I don’t see why she shouldn’t.”

“Your mastery of politics is an inspiration to us all, _amatus_ ,” Dorian said fondly and Lavellan shrugged.

Leliana chuckled in disbelief, her earlier frivolity fading a bit as her keen mind began to turn this matter over. Morrigan was certainly lying, that went without saying. Why and to what end, Leliana couldn’t imagine. Of course she’d thought the worst of Morrigan before and had been proven wrong.

“Surely you don’t expect Alistair to agree to this, Morrigan. The two of you despise one another.”

“We did when we were almost children, Leliana. I have grown and ‘tis possible that Alistair has done the same.” Morrigan looked doubtful but she forged on. “And there was at least one moment all those years ago when we did not despise one another as ardently as you think.”

Leliana lifted an eyebrow curiously.

“Have you never wondered who fathered my child, almost exactly twelve years ago on the night we all slept shivering in our beds and waiting for the final battle?”

“Maker,” Josephine breathed, in rapture at the state secrets being given to her like candy.

Leliana leaned back in her chair. She had spared a few moments over the years to wonder who Kieran’s father was, but it had never been more than idle curiosity. There had been plenty of handsome young soldiers in the castle that night. She’d spent several enjoyable hours before the battle with a lovely servant girl and had assumed that Morrigan had simply been careless in her own pleasurable escape. She’d certainly never thought that she would have crept into Alistair’s bed, not when she’d half-assumed that Surana had lured him into her bed with Zevran for a final goodbye.

“Before you declared the Circles be permanently disbanded, I thought our son had no other course but to remain at my side in secrecy. However now a new path opens before him. He is Alistair’s only heir and the rightful future king of Ferelden.” Morrigan set her hands almost delicately at her sides in triumph. “With Divine Victoria supporting the right of a mage to marry as she chooses, there is no reason why Alistair should not agree to our union.”

“What did Empress Celene think of your clever plan?” Leliana asked, her old love of the Game resurfacing at the delicious complications of this plot.

“I’m certain that she will see its benefits when she hears of it.” Morrigan smiled sharply.

“Oh, I’m sure. I wonder what the Fereldan people will hate more, your magic or your loyalty to the Orlesian court?” Leliana tapped her hand against the arm of her chair as she considered it.

“My magic and my loyalty will belong to my husband’s people, of course. ‘Tis only right and proper.” Morrigan let her face fall into a scowl. “Will you support me in this, Leliana, or must I find another way to protect my son’s future?”

“Such a cold and calculating idea,” Leliana said thoughtfully. “Tell me, Morrigan, will you be able to care for Alistair at all? The dear friend we both love would not want you to hurt him.”

Morrigan was quiet for a moment. “I am perfectly aware of what the Warden felt and likely still feels for Alistair, despite her love for that elf. I will try my best to be…kind to him.”

“Such romance,” Dorian muttered.

Leliana set her chin in her hand and quickly considered her answer. She had disbanded the Circles, which had not been popular, and announced that mages were free to marry as they choose, which had been equally unpopular. Out of all the kingdoms that listened to the words of the Divine, Ferelden had been the most responsive and she knew that Alistair was the reason why. She didn’t think that he was supporting her purely out of a sense of fairness but because of his lingering feelings for Surana. He’d loved a mage and put her aside to become king. It would be a powerful statement for Leliana’s cause if he married a mage now and declared his mage son the heir to the Fereldan throne.

It could also cause a massive rebellion and dissolve the country into civil war.

Of course if the Herald of Andraste supported the union as well, it might tip things back in her favor. Leliana began to see the scope of the plan that Morrigan was suggesting. The common people loved the Herald, despite his elfishness and general disinterest in being the hand of Andraste on Thedas. If Lavellan came out in strong support for the woman who had helped him defeat Corypheus and Leliana supported her old friend’s right to marry as she chose, they could easily sway the people in their favor. 

Especially if they turned it into a beautiful love story, one that would be told for generations to come. The story of love triumphing over old prejudice thanks to the new Divine and the holy hand of Andraste.

Slowly, very slowly, Leliana began to smile. It brought an answering smirk to Morrigan’s face and very shortly all of the other people in the tower began to feel a little nervous.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a grandson.” Fiona felt almost bemused as she looked up at the Herald’s strange companion and the dark-haired boy standing in front of her.

“Yes, you do. This is your grandson.” Cole said levelly. The young spirit had a habit of staring straight into people, which made Fiona a bit nervous despite the fact that she was a powerful mage and he was really quite kind. Old Circle fears. 

“I don’t even have a son,” Fiona lied with a little chuckle. She smiled at the young boy but he had equally piercing eyes and they were focused intently on her.

“Soft and small, though bigger than he could be, no one will know what he is or who he is. He has his eyes, gentle like a lamb in the field where he first kissed me,” Cole was speaking lightly, sounding almost dreamy. She’d never sounded so besotted.

“My son has no sons,” Fiona said firmly, giving up her lie. She never should have tried it with the spirit anyway.

“Mother says now that my father is a king.” Kieran looked uncertain at the idea. “Are you a queen, Grandmother?”

“I’m not your grandmother,” Fiona said. She blinked. “And no, I am not a queen. I am the Grand Enchanter. It’s much more important.”

“I agree, Grand Enchanter, although ‘tis uncertain what the leader of the Circle of Magi is when there is no longer a Circle.” Morrigan seemed to appear from out of the shadows. She placed her hands firmly on Kieran’s shoulders. “Kieran is Alistair’s son, whether you believe it or not. He’ll be at his side soon and I’d hoped to have your support.”

Fiona felt like she’d been blasted by a lightning spell. She might be able to doubt Cole’s ability to see clearly or accuse Morrigan of lying but both of them saying this together could only mean that it was the truth. 

She had a grandson.

Fiona dropped to her knees in front of Kieran and held out her hand to his face. He regarded her curiously, tilting his head like a bird. He looked so much like his mother but there it was in his eyes, soft and warm, and his forehead, strong like his grandfather’s and probably too big for a young boy. She chuckled softly and pulled him into her arms.

“Thank you for watching over my son,” Morrigan told Cole, a sharp edge on her face as she watched Fiona embrace Kieran.

“You don’t lose love when it has to spread out. It makes more,” Cole said, scratching at his neck as he looked at her. 

“Will I be queen, spirit? Will Alistair accept my proposal?” Morrigan didn’t think that she would get a straight answer out of this creature but something in her urged her to ask.

“I don’t know.” Cole shrugged. “I can’t live in the future like other spirits. I’m only here.”

“Not particularly useful,” Morrigan said sternly. She’d heard of what they’d done with this spirit and it had sounded ridiculous. If he’d had any sense at all he would have embraced his spirit nature and become even more powerful instead of flitting around like an awkward teenage boy.

“Can I come to your wedding if there is one?” Cole asked. “I’ve never seen one.”

“Oh, everyone will come,” Morrigan said with certainty. “No one will want to miss this union.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Morrigan is really hard. I rewrote most of her lines multiple times because they didn't sound old-timey enough. Her mom doesn't talk like that, where did Morrigan get it from?


	2. The Execution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Alistair is a lot of fun. I just think of the most sarcastic way you could say something in a situation that probably doesn't call for sarcasm and there you go.

Alistair was certain that most kings didn’t have to attend so many boring meetings. He slumped in his chair as his advisors talked and wondered if they were doing this to him because he was a bastard king. He bet that his brother had never sat through five meetings in a day, all seemingly devoted to the same issue.

“I just think that maybe I should wait a little longer to try to get married again,” Alistair said, for what he was sure was the fiftieth time that hour. “We just buried the duchess from the north. Livia? Lydia?”

“Lenora,” Teagan said. He was rubbing his forehead in what Alistair thought was a pretty pathetic grab for sympathy. “And while it is obviously tragic that your fiancée died on her way to Denerim, you can’t ignore your duties.”

“I’m not ignoring anything!” Alistair protested. “I just think that we might start running out of women in Ferelden if they keep getting killed off for trying to marry me.”

“There have been unfortunate accidents,” Teagan said. 

“Accidents are when you prick yourself putting your crown on in the morning. Six women in ten years dying under mysterious circumstances goes a bit beyond an accident.”

“But that doesn’t negate the fact that Ferelden needs an heir,” Teagan continued, undeterred. “Preferably before you march down to the Deep Roads and get stabbed to death by an ogre.”

Alistair leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I rather hope it’s not an ogre. They eat their victims, you know. Surana and I always said we would aim for a pack of hurlocks. Much quicker.”

Teagan sighed the deep sigh he seemed to reserve specially for Alistair. He spoke slowly and gently while the advisors nodded around him like tiny, fancy dogs.

“The False Calling has ended but it has reminded your people that their King’s time with them is more limited than they would wish. You must take a bride and you must produce an heir.”

“Fine!” Alistair rubbed his own forehead, which actually was pounding and not because he was an attention-seeking infant.

“At this point he might as well have married the elf. At least it would have been a good story,” one of his advisors muttered. Alistair narrowed his eyes.

Before he could say anything to that comment his page ran into the room, panting heavily. “Your Majesty!”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Alistair said. “What is it? More holes in the sky? Another dragon? An army of angry dwarves? I’ll take anything.”

“The Inquisition marches towards Denerim! With the Divine Victoria at the Herald’s side!”

The room erupted into stunned conversations. Alistair slumped into his seat. “Just Leliana then, spoiling for more radical proclamations. I was hoping that it would be something interesting.”

 

“This feels so familiar, doesn’t it, Morrigan? Remember when we last rode to Denerim together?” Leliana pushed her hood back and smiled up at the gleaming tower of Fort Drakon. “I’m so happy that they put all the fires out.”

“Twas twelve years ago. Surely you didn’t expect the city to still be burning.” Morrigan wrinkled up her nose as she eyed the gates around the sprawling city. “Although the fire might have improved it. Was it always so…dirty?”

“You’ve grown accustomed to Orlesian finery. Perhaps you should set your sights on a different monarch?” Leliana smirked. She’d been in youthful spirits since they’d left Skyhold, much to Morrigan’s dismay.

“Do you think they know we’re coming?” Levellan said drily from the other side of Morrigan. He was watching the growing crowd in front of the gates of city. Several elves were already cheering loudly.

“Smile, Your Worship,” Leliana said, affixing a beatific smile on her own face. “The people are happy to see us.”

“That’s always a bit of a shock, honestly,” Dorian said, rubbing over his mustache.

Soon a small battalion marched through the gates, followed by Alistair on an enormous white horse. The entire crowd exploded into cheers. Morrigan sat up straighter on her own horse.

“Your Worships, what an honor. Unless you’ve come to lecture me. I wouldn’t really welcome that,” Alistair said as they approached. “I’m perfectly happy with all the long, long missives you’ve been sending, Divine Victoria.”

“I’ve come with great news, Your Majesty, and the Hand of Andraste came to hold my words as a trust from the Maker.” Leliana gracefully slid down from her horse and curtsied all the way to the ground.

“Was that what I came to do?” Lavellen muttered but obediently got off his own horse and bowed.

This left Morrigan sitting on her horse between them, her bare back ramrod-straight and her golden eyes piercing into Alistair. He noticed her for the first time and stared in shock.

“Morrigan?” Alistair asked, too loudly. Later their story would turn his surprised greeting into an exclamation of barely-contained passion. Witnesses from that day would claim that they saw the King’s fist clench tightly at his side, as though he were struggling to keep himself from pulling his lost love into his embrace. 

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Morrigan said, her voice level. Later it would be recounted as a trembling purr as her sun-kissed eyes filled with tears.

“I have come to return your lost jewel to you, King Alistair,” Leliana said in a booming voice. “As Andraste proclaims that mages should be free to love and be loved in return, I come before you as Her humble servant and as your dear friend in order to reunite you with your beloved Lady Morrigan, one of the Hero of Ferelden’s most steadfast companions and the woman who led the charge against Corypheus alongside the Herald two years ago.”

“Yes, that happened.” Lavellan coughed. “She was a dragon, if that helps.”

Alistair stared blankly at him.

Leliana paused. The entire world paused with her.

“And I am also overjoyed to unite you with your son, Kieran of the Wilds.” 

Morrigan held her hand out to Kieran, who pulled away from Fiona’s side and came forward. He was peering at Alistair curiously for a long moment before he turned his face back up towards a cool Morrigan. She patted him on the shoulder absently. 

(Later people would claim that Morrigan’s maternal aura swept over the crowd like a gentle wave, bringing tears to the eyes of everyone who witnessed it.)

“Wait,” Alistair said and blinked hard. “What?” 

 

“How did this happen?” Teagan was pacing around the meeting hall like an agitated druffalo while Alistair rubbed his forehead. The other advisors had been immediately kicked out of the room but Alistair could still hear them whispering on the other side of the door. The visitors had been shuffled off with the appropriate pomp and circumstance right before Teagan had manhandled Alistair into a private conference. 

“I don’t know. I suppose it seemed like a good idea at the time. I’d only ever slept with one woman before and she was sleeping with someone else. I guess I figured, Morrigan’s a woman, why not?” Alistair shrugged and then winced at the look on Teagan’s face. “If I said that it was Surana’s idea, would that be more acceptable?”

“How in the world would that be better?” Teagan was turning a bit red, which Alistair didn’t think could be good for him.

“All her other ideas turned out pretty well.” Alistair sighed. He couldn’t very well tell Teagan that he’d taken part in some sort of magical sex ritual that was somehow essential to defeating the Archdemon. Honestly over the years he’d come to wonder how true that whole story had been. Maybe Surana had just felt bad for him and gotten Morrigan to throw him a bone in the most convoluted way possible.

“Lady Morrigan served in Empress Celene’s court,” Teagan said. “Could the Empress have sent her here as a spy?”

“Morrigan’s never been particularly subtle. She might tell you if you ask her.” Alistair stood up from his chair and peered out the window into the courtyard. He could see Morrigan’s son—Kieran—patiently following Grand Enchanter Fiona of all people around the garden. He was a quiet boy, Alistair could already tell that, with a solemn face. 

“Do you think that the boy is really your son?” Teagan asked and there was the crux of it all.

“Yes,” Alistair said distantly, watching as Kieran clasped his hands gently around the ladybug Fiona set on his palm. Kieran didn’t smile but his eyes were soft as he watched the bug move around his hand. “I do.”

“May I interrupt your meeting?” Morrigan asked, coming through the door and firmly shutting it in the faces of Alistair’s advisors. “I wish to speak to His Majesty.”

“Teagan, give us some privacy. Go show the Herald where we fought the Archdemon or something,” Alistair said absently. It was the kingliest he ever sounded. 

Teagan opened his mouth like he was going to protest but Morrigan’s icy stare and Alistair’s tense back told him that he should probably tread lightly. He bowed and beat a temporary retreat.

“You haven’t done much with the place,” Morrigan said in the ensuing silence. She slid gracefully into the grand chair at the head of the table. “I rather expected there to be more of those horrid little statues that you loved so much.”

“They’re all in my room,” Alistair said. He turned around and sniffed. “Surana still sends me some from time to time, actually. I got one last year that I think is some sort of fertility relic. Fairly obscene.”

Morrigan almost smiled, her lush lips sliding around the idea of it. “She does enjoy her gifts. I myself occasionally still receive odd, shiny trinkets from mysterious sources.”

She held out her lean wrist where several mismatching bangles jangled. Alistair did smile, small and sad in the way only someone could when they’ve swallowed down most of their regret over several years. He slumped down into the seat directly beside her and clucked his tongue against his teeth.

“So remember that night before we had some of the most awkward sex of my life and you promised never to do exactly what you just did today?”

“I did nothing today. Divine Victoria spoke to you under the authority of your imaginary god. I kept my promise perfectly.” Morrigan sat her hands primly on top of the table. “You should have been more specific at the time.”

“I was a bit preoccupied, I have to say. I didn’t sit down and really weigh my options like I might have,” Alistair said. “Also, you know, I was nervous about dying or not dying and becoming king. I had a lot on my mind.”

“As I recall, you did have difficulty when too many thoughts tried to enter your mind. We were all day at that tavern in Orzammar with the large menu.” 

“No, now that was Oghren’s fault, not mine. He got so excited when Wynne gave him those coins she found.” Alistair chuckled and ran his palm over his mouth. “Maker, that was the best year of my life.”

Morrigan raised her eyebrow at him.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was also probably the worst year of my life. Duncan died, Cailan died, the Blight was destroying everything, and the woman I loved started sleeping with an assassin after she made me king.” Alistair paused and shook his head. “But things were so much simpler then. We had a job and we were doing it. I didn’t have to worry about dukes wanting land or queens angry that my ancestors insulted hers.”

Morrigan pursed her lips together, clearly trying to hold back something biting.

“Why did you bring my son here, Morrigan?” Alistair contemplated Morrigan’s hand on the table and almost reached out for it, his fingers falling close to hers. “Is he…?”

“A perfectly normal young man, on the cusp of manhood. ‘Tis the time a boy wants a father,” Morrigan said lightly. “Why shouldn’t Kieran have his?”

Alistair stood up abruptly, his eyes drawn back to the window. He scowled. “I know you think I’m a fool, but I’m not that big of one. Why are you really here?”

Morrigan let out a slow breath and stared down the center of the table. “I drank deep from an ancient well of knowledge. It showed me the breadth of the universe, revealed secrets that I had never dared dream of before. I am more now than I have ever been before.”

“That’s a great answer, really,” Alistair said sharply. Morrigan glared at him with eyes that barely seemed human.

“And yet I find that ‘tis not enough. I am hunted by a shadow that will never die, no matter how many times she is slain.” Morrigan turned her eyes back to the table, slipping back into her thoughts. 

“Are you talking about Flemeth? Because I’m pretty sure that I helped Sten and Wynne kill her with Surana before we went to that creepy town with all the cult members.” Alistair crossed his arms over his chest.

“My mother slips away from death like a wraith through mist. She’s even changed her face but her voice haunts me in my dreams. I’ll never be free from her.” Morrigan clenched her fist on the table and Alistair watched with some worry as she began burning into ancient mahogany with magic.

“I’m sorry to hear that but I’m not really getting why that means I should marry you. It almost seems like that would be the last thing that I would want to do since your mother is a relentless, undying monster.”

“How many years do you think that you have left, King Alistair?” Morrigan asked, dragging her attention away from her dark contemplation. “Did the False Calling chill your bones as you slept alone in your great bed, knowing that your kingdom would fall under petty disputes if you died before your line is secure? My time may be equally limited. Mother has no interest in your small kingdom. I could enrich the lives of all of your people with the knowledge I have gained and still leave you with an heir when she comes for me. Our son will survive us both. Why shouldn’t he do it here, protected and happy?” 

Alistair stood for a long moment. Finally he let out a deep sigh and went back to the window, glancing out.

“Someone’s trying to make sure that I don’t get married,” he said quietly. “It’s someone close to me, someone who stands to gain from me not having an heir, which really doesn’t narrow down the list of suspects any.”

“’Twould be simplicity itself for me to discover who is responsible. The Inquisition will assist me.” Morrigan stood up.

After a moment Alistair shrugged. “Fine. If you live long enough to make it to the wedding, I’ll marry you and make Kieran my heir. The bloody kingdom might fall into civil war no matter what I do so I might as well get to know my son before I die.” 

Morrigan did smile then, tight and thin. Alistair smiled back grimly. The songs would tell of their intense, unparalleled love, obvious to anyone who would care to glance at their beautiful faces but they would always remember this moment—as they half-glared at one another in the meeting room—as the first time they thought that they might actually grow to tolerate the other person.

Alistair cleared his throat. “But if your mother does come to visit, she really can’t stay here. The nobility might get nervous if a dragon shows up at the breakfast table.”

 

“This is nice,” Iron Bull rumbled, spreading his huge limbs out on the cushy bed. “This is really nice. The Boss needs to upgrade us back home starting yesterday.”

Cole made a mumbled sound of confused assent as he adjusted around Iron Bull’s shifting body. He raised his head up and sleepily looked towards the door to their guest room.

“She’s afraid that she might be right and afraid that she might be wrong. How can she be both?” Cole murmured right before their door burst open.

“Come, creature. I’ve a desperate need of you,” Morrigan said sternly, her hands perched on her hips and her eyes burning like a gorgeous, furious dragon.

Iron Bull swallowed, his spent body struggling with all its might to rise to her command. He’d had this dream before but he hadn’t thought that it would actually happen.

“All right,” Cole said in a reluctant, tired voice. He awkwardly untangled himself from the cocoon of blanket and limbs on the bed and began getting dressed. 

“Um?” Iron Bull sat up. Morrigan swept those beautiful eyes over him and sniffed disinterestedly. 

“You may come also, if you wish. I may find myself in need of someone to lift something heavy,” Morrigan said archly.

Iron Bull considered the situation and shrugged. “Better than nothing, I guess.”


	3. The Bait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, it's been so long. In two more weeks I'll finally be free from the double horror that is the holiday season and our big move and I can finally concentrate on what's really important in my life, Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfiction. Also Lovie and I are buying a PS4 as our Christmas gift to each other so I'll finally get to play the Trespasser DLC and see all the ways that it's fucking invalidated everything I have my Inquisitors doing. This is definitely Solas's fault.

Varric really had no patience for most parents when it came to talking about their kids. Every parent thought that their precious offspring was the most gifted, beautiful, intelligent creature that had ever been seen under the Maker’s warm sun and Varric had no time for it. He was a busy spymaster.

Especially since it should have been obvious to anyone that his daughter was the most gifted, beautiful, intelligent creature that had ever existed or would ever exist. She was perfection writ small, a sweet bundle of baby talent and charisma, the ultimate blend of his and Cassandra’s considerable gifts.

That being said if she didn’t stop crying he might sell her to the next person he saw.

“It’s okay, Bedbug, shhhhh, Daddy’s got you, please just shut the fuck up already,” Varric cooed sweetly as Hawke wailed at top volume. He supposed they should have left her back at Skyhold but stupid him had never been apart from her for more than a few hours and he hadn’t been able to stomach the idea. Cassandra, who had spent a fair amount of time away from Hawke as her duties demanded, had scoffed at the idea of taking a baby on such a long journey but stupid, stubborn him had insisted.

“Why do you hate this place so much?” Varric murmured sotto voce, the barest hint of desperation clinging to his low tones. 

Cassandra hadn’t even stirred when Hawke started. That woman could sleep through anything. Varric didn’t think that this was good trait for a warrior to have. It would serve her right if she was eaten by a dragon the next time Lavellan took her out to the Storm Coast, all while she was sleeping nice and snug in her bedroll, probably dreaming about the worst romance series that anyone had ever written.

“What use are you then, creature?” Morrigan said in an angry huff as she strode into the meeting hall that Varric had been pacing. She was followed by a sleepy-eyed Cole and an energetic Iron Bull.

“People don’t think about everything in every moment,” Cole said, rubbing his face. “Hurts connect to sounds and smells and sights. And everybody hurts. There are so many echoes here. And I’m tired.”

The last part was said in a soft whine as Cole yawned. In the past couple of years Cole had taken to sleeping like the near-teenager that he looked like he was and was often found napping in quiet corners of Skyhold, hands curled neatly against his chest as he murmured in his sleep. He had a tendency to get very sweetly cranky when he hadn’t had enough sleep, enough being around ten hours a night. Varric envied him so much that it physically hurt. He’d forgotten what enough sleep felt like.

“I’ve no time for your limitations. You chose them.” Morrigan set her hands on her hips and regarded Varric sternly. Hawke had hiccupped into silence in surprise at their entrance but was quickly sniffling her way back to a full tantrum.

“Hey, noisy girl, what’s this about?” Iron Bull came over to Varric and took Hawke out of his arms. He rocked her in his massive arms and grinned when she squinted up him in distress. He bounced her slightly and her little face teetered on the edge of anger and joy. “Cole’s not a trained monkey, Lady Morrigan. He can’t just find this assassin on demand.”

“Assassins? We have assassins now?” Varric felt relief, bone-deep when Hawke’s sobs subsisted, but also jealous resentment that she was calming down with Iron Bull and not him. She was a baby traitor. 

“Yes,” Morrigan said coldly. “Alistair’s intended brides have been assassinated and he won’t marry me until their killer is caught. I would have thought the Inquisition’s spymaster might have known this already.”

“So he actually admitted that they were assassinations.” Varric rubbed his chin and then waggled his fingers in the air. “The council has been calling them tragic accidents for years. There are rumors that the King is under a curse from his old lover to prevent him from finding happiness with another woman.”

“Nothing but superstitious prejudice against the elves and mages. Surana would no more lay a curse on Alistair than she would come back to be his queen.” Morrigan crossed her arms. “Do you have any useful rumors to share?”

“I think it’s somebody in the castle,” Varric said, rolling his sore shoulders. “Somebody close to the King. Or somebody who thinks they should be close. Many of the betrothals weren’t even announced to the people so the assassin is someone who has access to the King’s council. Maybe even someone on the council.”

“Hardly an impressive assessment,” Morrigan snapped. “But I agree. Alistair knows his traitor and they know him. But ‘tis not as helpful as I need it to be. There are still too many possibilities and I’ve not the time nor patience to explore them all.”

“Well, maybe you don’t have to go to them.” Varric shrugged. “Make them come to you. If they want the King’s fiancées dead, then give them another target. Have Alistair announce the engagement to his council but not to the public and wait. You have to plan the wedding anyway.”

“That sounds like a good plan. We can be on the lookout for you. I’m an old hand spotting assassins and the Kid should be able to get a read on someone that’s actively out for you,” Iron Bull said. He had the sleeping Hawke arranged in one arm and was gently rubbing Cole’s neck with his other hand. Cole was looking enviously at Hawke but nodded when Iron Bull looked at him.

Morrigan nodded and turned to Varric. “Your plan shows merit although ‘tis hardly as clever and devious as the work of the Inquistor’s previous spymaster.”

“No, but I think we’re all trying to go for a softer, sweeter image now that the war is over.” Varric winked at Morrigan and carefully took Hawke back into his arms. She stirred for a moment and he felt like the world might be ending but then she settled back down into sleep. “I mean, you know what it’s like after you have kids.”

“Of course,” Morrigan said thoughtfully and then her lips curled into smirk. “Perhaps ‘tis time the King learns.”

 

“You must be joking,” Teagan said. Around him the council murmured their agreement.

“Apparently not.” Alistair shrugged. The murmuring grew louder. Morrigan stood stone-faced at his side and watched them. “Look, you guys want me to get married and have a kid. I’m already half there with Morrigan so why not wrap the rest of it up?”

“Even looking beyond her magic, you must marry a woman of noble blood.” Bann Reginalda had the decency to sound motherly as she spoke to Alistair, her tone dripping with the proper amount of tolerance for his youthful inclinations and steely disapproval. Alistair imagined her grown sons and daughters were easily cowed by that tone. 

“My mother wasn’t a noble and you still let me be king. I mean, as a last resort but the people don’t seem to have a problem with it. And Morrigan’s mother is like a queen. A big, scary witch queen. And her father might have been a noble, who knows.” Alistair paused to consider that. 

“Beyond that, I am nobility in the Orlesian court. Empress Celene was generous enough to bestow upon me a title when I left her service.” Morrigan reached down into her Orlesian-style corset and pulled out a glittering crest.

“See, there you go. Orlesian nobility.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. “How wonderful.”

“Alistair,” Teagan began but Alistair waved him off.

“I’ve let this council chose my brides for ten years and I’m no closer to actually being married than I was when I took the throne. I’m going to pick this time and you’re all going to find a way to make it work.” Alistair looked down the long table, meeting each member’s eyes briefly. “So get creative. And get going. I’m tired of talking about this.”

The council rose to their feet, grumbling low to one another. Morrigan cleared her throat before they could leave and the group turned to her. She looked calm and regal as she regarded them.

“I must ask that the council keep our engagement a secret for now. ‘Tis a custom of my people to not speak of a marriage until the time is right.” Morrigan also looked at all of the council members in the eyes. Most would agree that it was a far more nerve-wracking experience. “We will announce it on the next full moon as ‘tis right and proper.”

“That’s almost a month from now,” Fergus Cousland said, tilting his head curiously. He’d been the only council member to stay silent up to this point. “Won’t the people be curious after that entrance you made?”

“The Inquisitor and the Divine will keep them too busy for curiosity,” Morrigan said firmly.

Cousland dipped his head in acknowledgement and then finally the council left. Teagan gave Alistair a stern look as he left which promised that they would have words later whether he liked it or not.

Alone in the room Alistair let out a big sigh and gave Morrigan an askance glance. “Tell me, Morrigan, which of your people was it that had this custom? Flemeth, who I’m pretty sure ate her husbands, or your father, who was…what, a hunter or a very lost and lonely pirate?”

“I must have time to root out your traitor. Would you prefer I tell them of my plans and then present them with the knife to cut my throat?” Morrigan sat down in the chair at the head of the table, smoothing out the skirt on the dress she’d worn for the announcement. Alistair thought distantly that Orlesian finery was a good look on her. Of course anything was better than the scraps of cloth she usually wore.

“No, that would be messy. I like this room.” Alistair sat down in the chair beside her and rubbed his fingers against the smooth table. “Um, Morrigan, I know that you can take care of yourself and I don’t want you to mistake this for concern but…”

“There’s no need to try for worry, Alistair. The Inquisitor has graciously provided me with his personal bodyguard. I will be protected at all moments of the day. He waits even now on the other side of the door.” Morrigan turned to him. “I will be very busy these next few weeks doing the work you should have already done. Too busy, I fear, to spend the time with my son that I normally would. May I count on you at least in this?”

“Yes.” Alistair nodded so hard Morrigan feared his neck would break. “Yes, I think I can find the time. Yes.”

“Excellent.” Morrigan spread her hands across the table. “Then let us begin to plan our marriage.” 

“Oh, that sounds fun. Don’t most people just get married and take things from there?”

“We must have another child as soon as possible,” Morrigan said thoughtfully. “While I am still young enough to bear it safely and you are still unencumbered by the Calling. The people would feel safer if there is another child in line for the throne after the chaos of your brother’s death.” 

Alistair coughed so hard in surprise that Morrigan actually got him a glass of water and made him drink it, rubbing his back like he was a small child. She was surprisingly adept at it. 

 

“That woman was afraid of you,” Cole told Iron Bull. He was sitting cross-legged on a bench in front of the meeting room’s door. He’d watched with unblinking eyes as all of the council members left. Most were blue-blooded enough to completely ignore the boy dressed in mismatched and patched clothes gaping at them but some gave him curious looks as they passed. 

All of them looked at Iron Bull.

“Yeah?” Iron Bull wondered which one. There were a few women on the council, mostly older. In general the King’s council was composed of the older gentry, few of which looked pleased by the behavior of their monarch.

“The fear felt good to her, like the cut on her tongue that she can’t stop pressing to her teeth.” Cole slid the knuckle of his thumb into his mouth as he thought about his words. He looked flushed as he raised his face to Iron Bull, questioning.

“Behave yourself,” Iron Bull said, smirking. “If you can tell me what I’m thinking when we go to bed tonight, I’ll do it to you.”

Cole nodded slowly, wide-eyed in anticipation. Iron Bull turned serious.

“Are any of them thinking of arranging an accident?”

“There’s doubt and worry clinging to them. Once the golden head heard voices that were not theirs and it spoke of deep tunnels and the comfort of the wrong woman. He wanted the rot at night because they could carry it together again. They all want to protect the throne.” Cole rubbed his fingers, all in a row. “But nothing says here or now or her.”

“Keep listening,” Iron Bull demanded and then turned his head as the door opened again. Morrigan strode out with all of her beautiful grace in tow. She fixed Cole with an imperious glance and he shook his head. She scoffed and started walking down the hall at a brisk pace.

“Come. We have much to do.” Morrigan said, never looking back.

“That’s one natural queen.” Iron Bull whistled in approval and nodded at Cole, who unfolded his long legs and trotted after him as obediently as he followed Morrigan.

 

Once Alistair had stabbed an ogre in the knee and then climbed up its back as magical lightning had sparked all around him. Another time he had attacked a giant, angry tree as it swung its branches furiously around at him. And once he’d had a dragon fall on top of him while his former lover rushed to another man’s side. The point was that Alistair had already faced some of the most deadly creatures in all of Thedas and managed to walk away (or at least be carried away by Flemeth). So there was absolutely no reason why he should be half-hiding behind a pillar in his royal gardens, terrified to talk to a twelve-year-old boy.

He’d always liked children, although he often thought that they were laughing at him for reasons other than his rapier wit. However he’d never really spent much time around them and he had absolutely no idea what he would say to his own son.

“Let’s make some water and see if they’re thirsty,” Grand Enchanter Fiona said, smiling indulgently at Kieran as they sat together on a bench and watched two squirrels forage at their feet.

Alistair still had no earthly idea why the elected leader of the free mages was spending so much time with his son but that question seemed so much less important than what his opening gambit should be.

“Hello, son. I’m your father, the King of Ferelden. Yes, that would be brilliant,” Alistair muttered as Fiona created a tiny raincloud and sent a stream down beside the squirrels. 

“Mother can turn into a squirrel. She changed me into one once and we spent a day in the biggest tree in Empress Celene’s yards.” Kieran didn’t smile but there was a hint of something content around his eyes at the memory. “I didn’t like the smell but the squirrels played with me for hours.”

And just like that every fear and doubt oozed down from Alistair’s head because Kieran’s tone was pretty monotone but he recognized that wistful lilt in his last sentence. Suddenly Alistair felt ashamed for being so worried about what he should say when it was clear to anyone with even half a brain that Kieran was a lonely child. And he remembered what it was like to be a lonely child without a father.

“Hello, Kieran,” Alistair said, walking out from behind the pillar. “I’m happy to finally meet you.”

 

“I’m not going in there,” Lavellan said. He crossed his arms against his chest and practically glared at the Denerim Chantry before them.

Dorian smirked at Leliana. “I told you he wouldn’t do it.”

“Of course he will,” Leliana said through her bright smile. “The people want to see the Herald of Andraste in their Chantry, receiving the Revered Mother’s blessing.”

“I touched the rock.” Lavellan lifted the hand with the anchor on it and waved it in the direction of Andraste’s monument in the Palace District. “Surely that’s good enough. I even prayed in front of it.”

“Truly, _amatus_?” Dorian raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Well, I prayed to Dirthamen.” Lavellan rubbed at the bottom line of his vallaslin. “I think that’s pretty reasonable. And He’ll understand.”

“The Revered Mother of the Denerim Chantry would be a valuable ally in our mission here, Inquisitor. Or do you no longer want to help Morrigan?” Leliana gracefully dipped her face towards the gathered sisters in front of the Chantry. Around them were throngs of people pressing tight to one another in their desire to see the Divine and the Inquisitor.

Lavellan sighed irritably. His eyes fell on the excited faces of the city elves that had come to see him. “At this point, I think it would have been easier if I had just married her.”

 

“Mother, Father took me to see a newborn litter of mabari pups and he said that I could keep one.” Kieran rushed up to Morrigan in the meeting hall, followed by Fiona and a sheepish-looking Alistair. Kieran was holding a squirming, squeaking war pup in his arms and he smiled—slightly—when it tried to lick his face.

“Well, he has to keep this one. It chose him. I don’t make the rules.” Alistair held up his hands when Morrigan dragged her eyes from the pup to him. “Remember Surana’s dog?”

“Yes. ‘Tis a horrid creature,” Morrigan said with a shudder. She pushed aside the papers she’d been looking over and frowned at her son.

“May I keep her, Mother?” Kieran held the dog closer.

“Warm and safe. He smells like belonging,” Cole murmured from behind Morrigan’s chair. Sitting beside her Iron Bull glanced up and then reached out for his hand, rubbing his thumb into his palm.

“That you hear perfectly but you’ve not a whisper from the traitor?” Morrigan pulled another sheet of paper down in front of her and began writing. She waved her quill absently when Kieran held the dog closer. “Yes, you may keep it. But ‘tis your responsibility. I’ll not be mother to you and your pup.” 

“Thank you, Mother.” Kieran hugged the dog. 

“’Twas your father’s doing,” Morrigan said pointedly.

“Oh, yes.” Kieran turned his face up to Alistair. “Thank you, Father.”

“Of course. I’ve been told every true Fereldan has one.” Alistair shrugged. “Why don’t you and Fiona find her a collar and some war paint?”

“All right.” Kieran left the room as quickly as he’d entered it. Fiona followed at a more sedated pace, a quiet smile on her face. Alistair watched her go and turned to Morrigan.

“I really thought that someone might explain it to me but I guess I’ll just have to ask. Why is the Grand Enchanter playing governess to our son?”

“She is his magical tutor.” Morrigan pursed her lips together as she read. “’Twas Leliana’s idea. The Circles are no more but most feel that mages need formal instruction in the Chantry’s ways of magic. I’m not convinced but the people will be comforted if Kieran learns magic from a trained mage. ‘Tis possible ‘twill clear the way for young mages to be taught in their homes instead of ripped from them. The Grand Enchanter graciously volunteered to assist us in this endeavor.” 

Cole tilted his head curiously but Iron Bull’s hand squeezing his kept him from saying anything.

“I see.” Alistair furrowed his brow. “You know, I do have clerks. I think I have more clerks than I have cooks and I have dozens of those. You don’t have to write everything yourself. What are you writing?”

“I’m searching for patterns in the deaths.” Morrigan waved her hand over the papers. “One woman chokes on a bone and dies over the evening meal, another falls off of a temple wall. There is no rhyme to these murders.”

“Yes, the assassin is clever.” Alistair sat down beside her. “I actually wrote to Zevran and asked if he might have some insight into it.”

“Truly?” Morrigan asked, one fine eyebrow curving up.

“The council is firmly convinced that they are accidents. I wanted to see if I was crazy or not to suspect foul play. I sent him the details of the deaths and waited for months.”

“He never wrote back?”

“Oh, he wrote back.” Alistair reached down into a bag at his side and pulled out some papers. He tossed them to her. “Ten pages explaining in detail how he would have accomplished each murder and an offer at the end to come guard my body personally. Then Surana sent me twenty amulets with protective spells woven into them.”

“It sounds like your traitor wants to make you look bad,” Iron Bull said. “I’ve seen it before. You target the family instead of the man, make him look like he’s too weak to protect his own. Fereldan nobility have a lot of influence. Making you seem powerless in front of them might be the real point of this.”

“Well, as long as it’s not personal.” Alistair stood up abruptly. “This is your job, Morrigan. That was our deal. Fix this for me and I’ll marry you the next day. I’m going to go check on Kieran and that dog.”

“Of course,” Morrigan murmured, eyes lowering to the papers. Her voice was a satisfied purr. “See to our son.”

Iron Bull watched Alistair leave the room and then turned to Morrigan. “You’re really good at this. Give it a week and he’d probably marry you even if you never found a killer just to be with his kid.”

“Alistair is more sentimental than even he realizes. I am simply guarding my family’s future.” Morrigan rose in a rustle of lace and leather. “Now, you will both devise a way to lure this traitor out into the open. I will have my wedding and I will have it soon.”


	4. The Trap

When future generations would speak of the incomparable love between the handsome king of Ferelden and his bewitching bride, they would wax poetic on the weeks leading up to their sudden wedding. Their engagement was a secret until the day that the Divine Victoria joined them in marriage, flanked by the Holy Hand of Andraste and his Inquisition. Bards would sing long, rapturous songs about how those weeks were filled with all the passion that befitted their decade-long separation. They would sing of how King Alistair showered his intended with gifts only fit for a goddess and how the exquisite Lady Morrigan worked tirelessly to strengthen her love with the arcane magic she would later use to protect her people.

In truth for the first week, Alistair didn’t see Morrigan for longer than a couple of minutes as they passed one another in the many hallways of his castle. Each time he saw her, he would ask if she was closer to finding his traitor and her eyes would flash in irritation as her constant bodyguards stared guiltily at the walls. 

Well, Iron Bull did. Cole would stare at Alistair with a deep, unsettling look that would have made him very uncomfortable if it didn’t take his attention away from Morrigan’s growing ire.

She had to be the only woman in the world who was angry that someone wasn’t trying to kill her.

“Maybe they’re given up?” Alistair suggested. He craned his neck around Morrigan and her entourage to make sure that Kieran was still in the hallway playing with his dog. They had been headed out to the courtyard when he’d encountered his intended.

“We will host a dinner tonight.” Morrigan held herself straight as a board and folded her hands neatly together. “All in your circle will attend and bear witness to our love. Your betrayer will not help but show their true feelings.”

She said this last part in a rather biting way towards Cole, who swung his lantern eyes over to her for a truly intense staring contest until Cole blinked and looked away. 

“I really think you’re underestimating how much my non-traitorous advisors don’t want me to marry a hedge mage from the Orlesian court, but we can try this.” Alistair pursed his lips as Morrigan gathered up her skirts to continue down the hallway. Impulsively he reached out to grab her sleeve. He coughed when she glanced at him in surprise and he reached down into his pocket to pull out a box. “If we’re going to be hosting some official state dinner, you should probably wear this. I maybe should have given it to you earlier but I didn’t want to waste time finding it if you were killed by a rabid dog the next day.”

“That was a clever assassination,” Iron Bull murmured to Cole.

“Lady Emmaline of the Free Marches.” Cole rocked up on his heels. “She liked snakes. She didn’t want to marry you.”

“Upsetting,” Alistair said and shoved the box in Morrigan’s hand. She opened it and pulled out an old ring, heavy with jewels. Alistair coughed again. “It’s been in the family a long time, I guess. I would have let Anora keep it but the Council insisted that she give it back. You should wear it tonight.”

Morrigan slipped it on her finger and examined it critically before nodding. “’Tis a simple gesture but it may tip the scales in my favor. You show surprisingly canny thinking.”

“I love how surprised you sound when I do something smart. It really speaks to the mutual respect we’ll have in our marriage.” Despite his words, Alistair felt a little pleased at her praise. He had learned some things in his decade as king, even if he’d avoided every potential lesson. 

“Tonight then, my King, we shall show your people our great love,” Morrigan said in a mocking tone but the way she curtsied in the hallway pushed her breasts up to their best advantage and she smirked almost warmly when his eyes naturally fell to them.

Alistair took a deep breath as the small group continued down the long hallway and then turned a sheepish face to his son. “Well, that was fun. Let’s go watch Fliodhas eat everything in the courtyard.”

The dog barked happily, perhaps at the sound of her name or maybe in appreciation of his suggestion. Alistair was never quite sure how smart a Mabari was, especially a young one, but he was always too afraid to ask. He was a little nervous at the idea that Surana’s dog might actually be smarter than him.

 

“You gave Lady Morrigan the ring of the Fereldan Queen.” Teagan didn’t even sound mad as he slumped in his chair, hand pressed against his face like a shield. He just sounded very, very tired.

“Just a little gesture of my affection. It seemed appropriate for the occasion,” Alistair boomed with false confidence. He assumed that whatever Morrigan was going to do once she showed up to dinner was not going to be little and he had his doubts on the affectionate part as well. “She was pretty happy about the whole thing.”

“I’m certain she was,” Bann Reginalda said with a cultured sniff that was a match for any those heard at the Orlesian court. Her comment sent a wave of agreeing whispers down the table.

“That’s a fine hound you have there,” Fergus Cousland said suddenly. It took the room a disoriented moment to realize that he was speaking directly to Kieran sitting at Alistair’s side. Fliodhas was curled up on his lap and peering intently at the middle of the table where the food would be as soon as Morrigan arrived. The Antivan husband of one of the banns had suggested that perhaps the dinner table wasn’t the proper place for a dog and had received perplexed looks in return. Mabari hounds loved table scraps and no Fereldan noble worth their salt would deprive their faithful companions something they loved so dearly. It would be completely uncivilized.

“Thank you, Your Lordship,” Kieran said politely. He scratched behind the dog’s ears and her little face went wild with delight.

“My younger sibling had one with similar coloring.” Fergus took a careful sip of his wine and smiled faintly. “They were inseparable troublemakers.”

Alistair flashed Cousland a grateful smile. He knew that it had to still be painful to talk about his family after their massacre during the Blight and he appreciated that the man was willing to show kindness in the face of his disapproving peers. 

“A worthy beast,” Arl Gallagher Wulff said broadly, slamming his flagon down on the table. “The perfect companion for a young lad or lass. All of mine had them.”

Everyone in the room digested this information and Alistair thought that their internal conflict over whether or not to obliquely mention that Wulff’s daughter had run off with a savage Avvar would keep them busy for a few minutes. He sighed in relief and reached over to lend his hand to scratching the dog’s head. On the other side of Kieran, Fiona took a delicate sip of her tea and smiled enigmatically, which Alistair thought must be her default face because she was always doing it around him.

Suddenly the doors to the grand hall burst open and the Inquisition poured in, led by Morrigan in a resplendent Orlesian gown. Behind her Leliana was dressed in similarly ostentatious regalia and if Lavellan wasn’t as finely dressed as Dorian at his side, then he had at least brushed his hair and put on a slightly fancier shirt.

The Council stood as one and Morrigan dropped into an appropriately slight curtsy. Alistair stumbled over to her after Teagan kicked his ankle and he extended his arm for her hand. She let her hand hover for a moment so that the firelight would catch on the jewels of her ring before she dropped it down on Alistair’s arm. The whispers immediately began again in full force.

Alistair sat Morrigan beside him and watched with interest at the brief but intense whispers that occurred between the Divine and the Inquisitor before the latter finally led Leliana to her chair and awkwardly helped her into it before taking his own seat. Dorian Pavus smirked at the people closest to him as he took his seat with a smooth, elegant movement. Alistair didn’t think that the Tevinter mage was actually the Inquisitor’s concubine, not matter what people said, but he certainly did nothing to staunch the rumors. His outfit was bizarrely arresting and scandalous in a way that was probably more appropriate in a warmer climate.

“Shall we begin?” Morrigan peered coldly down the table, making it clear that she was not late by any stretch of the imagination and they had all been uncouth to show up so early.

“Definitely, yes, right now.” Alastair waved at the servants. He was already tired of tonight.

 

Morrigan breathed out heavily as the last meal was efficiently whisked away from the table. She sank back into her chair and mimed an exhaustion that was mostly false. If the rulers of Ferelden were so foolish as to believe her Empress Celene’s pampered pet, she would know it now. Their ignorance would be her boon.

“Are you all right?” Alistair asked, leaning over her. She wondered if his concern was an act or if he was legitimately worried for her. She imagined it had to be the latter. Alistair was incapable of such convincing subterfuge.

“I am well, my love,” Morrigan murmured weakly, letting her eyelashes flutter a bit in an alluring display of vulnerability. She arched towards him in a way that highlighted the artistry of an Orlesian corset. “It has simply been an exhausting day planning our wedding.” 

“Very impressive meal, Your Highness,” Fiona said briskly. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “I can only dream of how fine the dessert will be.”

“Yes. Let’s have the dessert brought out.” Alistair settled Morrigan back into her chair and muttered directly in her ear, “Now that the show is over.”

Morrigan hid a smirk at his words. Truly Alistair had changed a bit in the decade since they’d known each other. Or perhaps it was true that she had softened since having a child and his idiocy no longer seemed so completely maddening to her.

The mention of dessert brought the Council out of their reverie over the discussion of the upcoming wedding. Most appeared noticeably disquieted and these were the ones that Morrigan watched carefully under half-lowered eyelids as the servants brought out the desserts. She reached under the table for Cole’s hand and squeezed it sharply. He had better be paying attention or she would teach him the discipline his great, brutish lover apparently couldn’t instill despite his provocative words to the contrary.

Of course if she did, the Iron Bull might die of delight and be worthless to everyone. The Inquisitor would not be happy.

“How wonderful,” Morrigan murmured demurely as a servant set a delicate chocolate concoction in front of her. It had clearly been made especially with Orlesian sensibilities in mind since it was presented only to her, Leliana, and Fiona while the rest of the table was enjoying thick slices of pie. She would have preferred something more substantial since she’d spent the day researching and was still ferociously hungry despite the meal they’d just had but she could fill her belly later. Morrigan picked up her fork and shaved off a tiny piece of the dessert.

“Wait!” Cole grabbed her hand in a grip so tight it almost hurt. Everyone at the table turned to them as Cole took the plate and threw it to the ground. He leapt up onto the table in the next moment and glanced around with sharp eyes. The Council gaped in surprise at this affront. Lavellan sniffed in disinterest and began eating his slice of pie while Leliana and Fiona froze, their forks halfway to their mouths.

“What is it?” Iron Bull stood, letting the full effect of his height and bulk fill their senses.

“Three sprigs,” Cole murmured, looking around. His mouth moved slowly as he concentrated. “One for the whore, one for the traitor, and one for the witch. It burns through the throat. She only wanted one but the Maker opens doors for a reason.”

Cole’s eyes finally fell on Bann Reginalda and he knelt on the table in front of her. His voice was gentle as he spoke to her, “She was a kind child. She deserves better. You wanted to protect her. I understand.”

“What is this madness?” Reginalda said in clear disgust. “Inquisitor, can you not manage your people?”

“Frequently not,” Lavellan said around a mouthful of pie. Dorian chuckled fondly. Lavellan swallowed. “But Cole can see things no one else can. Clearly you’re conspiring against Lady Morrigan. I suppose I should request that you be sent to Skyhold for judgement? I’m never sure where I have authority. Josephine?”

“Lady Morrigan is a dear friend of the Inquisition. If Bann Reginalda has conspired against her, we must appeal to King Alistair for recompense.” Josephine dabbed at her mouth. “And I’m certain that the Chantry and Circle of Magi will demand action as well if there comes proof that they were nearly poisoned.”

“That would be bad,” Alistair murmured, still a bit thrown off by the whole thing.

“This is absurd. Your Highness, you can’t truly allow this child and an elf to accuse me of treason?” Reginalda gave Cole a scathing onceover. She gasped when he reached out to touch the top of her hand, comfortingly.

“She will tell the truth. You went too far this time. They were always supposed to be accidents. She does love you, mother in spirit if not in body, but we must be practical. Remember the beautiful governess and the stairs?”

Reginalda swallowed thickly and rose to her feet. Cole lowered his head to the ground, hiding his face as Reginalda set her napkin on the table beside him and stepped away from the table. 

She came as close to Morrigan as Iron Bull would allow and paused.

“You will destroy this kingdom. We all know it, even if I am the only one brave enough to try to stop you.” Reginalda turned to Alistair, her face suddenly dark with fury. “You thought that you could throw our Queen away like she was nothing and that no one would protest. She would be twice the ruler you are.” 

“Probably accurate,” Alistair said, rising to his feet. “But I’m the ruler you have even if I’m not the one you want. And you’ve betrayed this kingdom and insulted me by doing it, which I find particularly upsetting. You’ll have to pay for your crimes.”

“May I speak, Your Highness?” Morrigan was already gracefully rising to her feet before Alistair nodded. Morrigan regarded Reginalda with cold, penetrating eyes. “You have committed crimes against all of the faithful kingdoms of this world and you have nearly killed the Divine. I beg my King to deliver you into the hands of the Divine, so as she can determine a fitting punishment.”

“How intriguing, Lady Morrigan,” Leliana murmured. She also stood and dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Bann Reginalda’s crimes need not taint the integrity of your Council, Your Highness. I would be honored to strip her of her name and devise the appropriate path back to the Maker.”

“I always feel like I’m missing something important in these conversations but fine, Leliana. You take her. As far as I’m concerned, Bann Reginalda never existed.” Alistair sat heavily back down in his seat and picked up his fork. “Now I’m going to finish my dessert and I really don’t want anything else insane to happen before I’m done.”

 

There was ultimately one more thing that Morrigan had to do before she could claim victory and the Fereldan throne. A week later Morrigan gathered up her finest skirts and ascended to the top of the tower, followed by Cole and a huffing Iron Bull.

“Why keep prisoners up so high? What do the _bas_ have against dungeons?” Iron Bull sighed in relief as they reached the room at the highest point of the tower. He nodded to Morrigan. “You want us to come in with you?”

“I shall manage myself.” Morrigan unlocked the door to the tower room and let it shut heavily behind her.

Anora didn’t glance up from her embroidery as Morrigan came to the center of the room. It was lavishly decorated for a prison cell and Anora was dressed in the latest fashions. 

“Please have a seat. I would offer you refreshments but those come later in the day. I must tolerate a certain amount of inconvenience here.” Anora finished a stitch and set the cloth into a basket at her side. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and offered Morrigan a practiced, serene smile. “You have barely changed at all in this past decade. Except your taste in clothes has improved.”

“You also appear well.” Morrigan sat in the armchair across from Anora and folded her hands just as precisely over her voluminous skirt. 

“Well, I do have my loyal friends even now. But of course you know that.”

“How did you convince Bann Reginalda to commit her crimes?” Morrigan asked. 

Anora laughed, gently. “I never needed to convince her. She was furious on my behalf. I think Reginalda always thought that Alistair would one day remember me up here. So foolish. As though I would marry the man who killed my father in front of me.”

“Then why encourage her at all?” 

“I am no longer the queen of this land but my love and my loyalty didn’t end the day they locked me in here.” Anora smoothed over a wrinkle in her skirts. “King Alistair is…not the kind of man who can heal Ferelden’s wounds. I hoped he would find a bride with the strength he lacked.”

“I see.” Morrigan stood. “You will be sent away. I have spoken with Empress Celene and she is delighted at the idea of you serving in her court as the Fereldan ambassador. ‘Tis an entirely powerless position but I’m certain you will find some entertainment in it.”

“You would send me to Orlais, into the nest of vipers and cowards?” Anora’s voice was toneless despite her words, almost curious.

“Yes. Gather what power you will there. It seems more suitable for you.” Morrigan curtsied. “Ferelden only needs one queen.”

Anora stood and curtsied in turn. Her smile was vague. “On that we can both agree, Lady Morrigan.”

 

“All of this conspiracy and planning is exhausting. How do Orlesians stand it, especially with those suffocating masks they wear?” Alistair signed the paper in front of him and impatiently waved Teagan away. “I don’t think that Anora will be less dangerous in Orlais.”

“I agree,” Morrigan said. She laughed and leaned back in her chair, looking almost cheerful. “I believe that she may learn to play the Game with greater finesse than I ever did.”

“You’re a confusing woman.” Alistair shook his head and then actually reached out across the table to touch her hand. “But you fulfilled your end of the bargain and I’ll fulfill mine. Want to get married tomorrow?”

“Are you becoming so eager for our wedding night?” Morrigan said in a teasing purr. She nearly laughed again when Alistair yanked his hand away and blushed. She leaned forward, allowing the top half of her body to arrange itself sinuously on the top of the table. “I’ll admit, Alistair, our time together was not completely intolerable. I have thought on it again from time to time. Did you?”

“Well,” Alistair began and coughed.

This time Morrigan did laugh, although it was less mocking than it had been when she’d laughed at him in the past. Or perhaps he was just growing immune to her derision.

“Impatient as you may be, my King, a wedding such as ours takes time.” Morrigan smirked. “The Inquisitor’s diplomat is conspiring with Leliana to plan it. They’ll be soon finished with their scheming and then we will be wed, before one and all.”

“Maker’s breath.” Alistair closed his eyes. “This whole bloody thing is going to be a nightmare.”


	5. The Clean-Up

“Tell me the truth, I can take it.” Alistair reached out to grab Morrigan’s elbow as she attempted to breeze past him again in the hallway, her skirts fluttering like silken shadows. “Is there a single bit of ribbon anywhere in my kingdom that’s not currently in the Grand Hall?”

“Our kingdom, my love,” Morrigan said with a disturbing, cat-like smirk. A pair of Orlesian courtiers passed them in the hallways and tittered behind their masks at their intimate pose. Alistair waited until they were gone and shuddered. He would rather face a million bloodthirsty darkspawn than deal with a member of the Orlesian court. He never should have let Leliana and Morrigan plan the guest list.

“It’s not ours yet,” Alistair said, his voice low. The damn walls had ears right now. He’d found a handsome Antivan merchant-prince in his private baths this morning. The only thing more shocking was that he hadn’t been Zevran in disguise. But the day was still young.

“Is that eagerness I hear in your voice? Tonight comes so very soon.” Morrigan drew up closer to him, so close that he could smell her perfume and, if he tilted his eyes slightly farther down, see the round swell of her breasts in the tightest bodice he’d ever seen in his life.

Alistair wasn’t blushing. He was a grown man and he’d had sex with other women before—and not just Surana, thank you very much—so he had no reason to feel embarrassed about the idea of his wedding night. And he certainly wasn’t going to let Morrigan ruffle his feathers. At least not until they were in bed.

“Maker,” Alistair muttered and stomped away. He already regretted every decision he’d ever made in his life. He wondered if it was too late to abdicate the throne and become a dedicated goat-herder.

 

“They must be joking,” Dorian said in an appalled tone as he took in the ostentatious display in the hall around him.

All around the Inquisition, servants and noblemen hurried as the day inched closer to the most extravagant wedding of the century. Five of the ten bards present to witness and make songs of the occasion had suffered nervous breakdowns at the thought of trying to capture every romantic moment. The people were pressed tightly outside the walls of the castle, celebrating so enthusiastically that three of the bars had already run out of alcohol.

“It’s a little much,” Iron Bull said as he swallowed down another delicate crème puff. The servant beside him attempted to flee with what was left of his pastries but Iron Bull reached out towards the tray and scooped up the rest of them in one huge hand. He offered one to Cole, who was staring up at the decorations in clear admiration. “You have to try one of these, Kid.”

Cole took the pastry and immediately fed it to the attentive mabari pup at his heels. Kieran stroked her ears as the dog shivered in delight. The boy was shadowing Cole with quiet intensity as the hours went on, never saying much but always keeping an eye on his reactions to things. Iron Bull thought, with no small amount of pride, that the soon-to-be princeling felt safest around Cole after he had dramatically saved Morrigan’s life. His demon was a real Charger for sure, cozying up to hot mothers and getting on the good side of royalty.

“I said you should try one,” Iron Bull complained but he slung his arm around Cole’s shoulders anyway. The kid looked so enraptured by his surroundings that it was pretty fucking cute.

“Everything is so bright. The colors want to swallow each other so that they’ll be bolder,” Cole said. He tucked himself up against Iron Bull’s side and sighed dreamily. “The room looks like you, Dorian.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Dorian sputtered and Iron Bull laughed. Very fucking cute.

“I agree with Cole. The room is striking.” Lavellan smoothed yet another wrinkle in a new set of fine clothes, bought the week before from a devout elvish tailor. Dorian pursed his lips in irritation but submitted to Lavellan’s hand gentle on his arm as they moved away towards the front of the room where Leliana was standing in extravagant regalia. “Do you think that Leliana used the Inquisition’s funds for her dress?”

“I’ll bet she used your money for all of this, amatus. We’ll go home to find that the statues have been stripped bare.”

Lavellan considered that and shrugged. “I never much cared for them in the first place.”

 

“People are going to sing songs about this someday, Seeker,” Varric said. In his lap Hawke giggled in delight as an errant ribbon from a banner fluttered down to her. He saved it before she could shove the whole thing down her throat and had to immediately distract her with the highest button on his shirt.

Cassandra sighed and Varric quickly looked at her face to see if that sigh was what he thought it was. His stomach sank. He was only too familiar with that dreamy, romantic look and it didn’t bode well for him. That was a look that said that there had better be an extravagant wedding in his next book or else his biggest fan was going to revolt.

“It’s wonderful, Varric. Even if Lady Morrigan is a deceitful snake.” Cassandra reached for his hand and pressed her thumb down once against his palm before pulling away. “I must see to the Divine. She is leaving herself far too vulnerable today.”

Varric rather thought that Leliana probably knew what every single person present in the room had eaten for breakfast two weeks ago but if it made Cassandra happy to scare away some overly devout merchants, he wouldn’t stand in her way.

“Go be a good Right Hand.” Varric held Hawke up briefly so that Cassandra could bestow a perfunctory kiss on her head and then settled back against his cushioned seat.

“It’s a beautiful display, yes? Although not quite as beautiful as the future queen, I think.” The statement came from a slim man in servant’s garb standing close to the shadows. Varric turned his head to get a better look at the man—probably elvish judging by his size and what little he could see of his face under his large, round hat—and the servant smiled charmingly at him.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Varric asked, trying to pinpoint the exact memory tickling at the edges of his mind.

“Come now, Master Dwarf, you know we all look alike,” the elf said in what Varric realized was an Antivan accent, one he was trying to flatten under Fereldan city elf cadence. The elf smiled again enigmatically and disappeared into a hallway.

Varric watched the empty space where’d he been for a few minutes, as Hawke shuffled and bounced on his lap. He never forgot a face but he didn’t know if seeing that one here, now, was a good sign or not. He turned back to watching the crowd and shrugged. He’d grow a beard if it turned out Leliana didn’t already know that he was there and if she was fine with it, he supposed that he didn’t care.

 

Alistair slammed the door to his room hard in the face of yet another minor lord trying to use the wedding as an excuse to air out his many grievances. He stared blearily around the room and sighed. This might be his last moment of privacy for the next year and now that he was in it, he didn’t know what he wanted to do.

As he scanned the room and contemplated taking a quick nap, he saw a basket sitting on his dresser. He stared at it with pursed lips. It definitely hadn’t been there in the morning and it wasn’t like his servants to leave things in his room, especially gifts.

“It’s going to explode and kill me,” Alistair told himself as he approached it. “This was Morrigan’s plan all along.”

Despite his sarcasm he did cautiously lift up the blanket covering the contents of the basket, his senses on high-alert as he peered in. There was an assortment of items inside. A small note sat on top of them all and he picked that up first, brow furrowing.

_Congratulations on your wedding._

_I wanted to come and take part in the day but my work is pulling me far away. I know that you understand. I’ve sent a few gifts to mark this occasion. I pray that you and Morrigan will be as good to each other as you always were to me. I love you both._

_As always, I remain your faithful servant,_

_Your friend_

_P.S. The book wasn’t my idea._

Alistair waited for the heavy sting he’d felt over the years when he’d thought about his friend but to his surprise it didn’t come. There was a small pinch of sadness freshly disturbed down in the pit of his stomach but it was quickly settled down with curiosity as he picked up a statue from the basket. It was elaborate and sensually curved into the shape of a dancing woman, her face lifted up to the sky as her long arms spread wide. The woman looked vaguely like Morrigan. He set it down next to another statue on his dresser.

The rest of the items in the basket were simple and yet perfect, as usual. He found a few loose runes, none of which he had, an old royal Fereldan crest, and a small assortment of protective charms, woven into simple necklaces and similar to the one he was already wearing under his clothes.

At the very bottom of the basket was a slim book with a slick, red-leather cover. There was no title on the front so he picked it up and flipped it to a random page, only to be immediately confronted with the illustration of two people vigorously copulating in a way that seemed pointedly reckless and impossible. There were helpful descriptions listed below the illustration and some hand-written notes in a familiar script that added further hints.

He knew that he should throw the book down, perhaps into the cheery fire roaring in his bedroom, but he couldn’t help but flip through a few more pages, reading the florid hints as his cheeks grew more and more red. Alistair read the book until one of his servants knocked on his door, which caused him to accidentally send the book flying across the room.

“I’m coming, hold on!” Alistair shouted, too loud, and hurriedly retrieved the book. He shoved it under his mattress without thinking.

It would be rude to refuse a gift, he supposed, especially on your wedding day. Although he did think that he might send a few of his guards out to see if they could spot any handsome, irritating blond elves anywhere. He didn’t know what was happening with his security these days.

 

Morrigan stood in the small room the handmaidens had deposited her in after helping her into the complicated dress she was wearing. She was almost starting to think that she was going to have to go looking for him—and then there would be hell to pay—when Alistair suddenly stumbled into the room. His face was faintly red and he couldn’t meet her eyes as he came to his place at her side. She thought she knew why and it made her smile as she adjusted the silver bangle on her wrist, newly acquired from a basket she’d found in her room.

“Our friend sent you her love?” Morrigan asked in a soft murmur as she stared ahead, letting Alistair compose himself.

“She did, yes. I’m not sure what our other friend sent me.” Alistair finally straightened and squared his shoulders as the trumpets began blazing in the other room. “I guess this is it.”

“Disguise your enthusiasm, my love,” Morrigan said between a pleased smirk.

The two of them walked out of the small room and into the roar of a crowd on both sides of them. Directly ahead at the front of the room, Leliana was smiling serenely at them above a veritable mountain of frothy cloth and lace. The Inquisitor was nearby, his lean face openly curious as he watched Morrigan and Alistair make their way up the line. Morrigan wondered if this was his first time seeing an Andrastian wedding. It wasn’t hers but it was certainly the first one she’d ever been in. Such a ridiculous spectacle but it made a point to the people around them.

As they walked and the people cheered, Morrigan noticed Alistair’s hand hesitantly inching towards hers as he waved heartily with the other. Morrigan almost rolled her eyes before reaching out to take Alistair’s hand firmly in her own. She squeezed it—a warning more than a comfort but it felt like both—and waved to the people. Her people.

She smiled gently as her eyes fell on her son on the other side of Leliana. He looked so handsome and adult in his royal clothes, so like her and yet so different. The warmth and joy on his face as he glanced over to Fiona let her know that she was making the right decision. She squeezed Alistair’s hand again when she noticed that he was openly grinning at Kieran as they approached him. Her child had a father who, if he didn’t already, would grow to love him. And Alistair was a perfect, babbling fool but his loyalty was as certain and enduring as the mountains.

Let Mother come for her now, with her new face and the whispers of horrific ideas. She would go willingly in the knowledge that she had given her son the family she’d never had. He would be safe and happy when she was gone.

“My friends,” Leliana began as they stopped in front of her. “How pleased I am to be here today, to bear witness to a love that lived through the Fifth Blight and stands before us all as a testament to the Maker’s hopes and dreams for our future. Are you both ready?”

“Yes,” Morrigan said and was surprised when Alistair’s affirmative was in perfect sync with her own. Before they pulled their hands away Alistair squeezed hers tightly and gave her a quick, curious smile that left her pleasantly warm.

In the future she would never quite know exactly when their uneasy friendship fell into genuine affection but she would remember that moment as the first time she thought that it might be nice to enjoy her marriage, even if it was to Alistair.

 

“Well,” Alistair began and then coughed nervously. “Here we are.”

Morrigan looked around their shared room. He wondered if she was pleased by it. He wondered if he cared if she wasn’t. He wondered if he would be able to figure out the complicated weave of straps and buttons on her dress or if he would look like a total idiot if he tried to divest her of the garment.

He wondered if he would ever stop wondering and actually bring himself to touch her.

As usual Morrigan didn’t wait for him to figure things out. She gave him a sultry, sly look over her shoulder as he shut the door and turned to lock it. By the time he turned back around she’d already managed to cleave through every button and fold and drop her dress onto the ground.

Alistair swallowed as he looked her over. The first time they’d done this he’d been so nervous and upset—and only half because he was about to take part in freakish sex magic—that he’d tried his damnedest just to look at her face. It hadn’t really been much better as the look of smug amusement she’d worn the entire time had been as unsettling as her full, unfamiliar body against him in the dark. He’d pretended at first that she was Surana but that had quickly gone out the window. She’d been too different, sensual and teasing and so damned pleased with herself in a way that Surana—serious and steadfast even in lovemaking—never was.

“Come, my king,” Morrigan murmured, holding out her hands. “You must conquer your new territory.”

Somewhere deep down inside Alistair, a bubble of amusement began trickling up and by the time he’d moved a few steps towards Morrigan, he realized that he was chuckling. Morrigan raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely pleased but seemingly willing to let him explain himself before she froze him alive for mocking her.

“Sorry, not an appropriate time for this,” Alistair said, still forcing down laughter. He impulsively reached out and took Morrigan’s hands in his, squeezing his fingers around hers. Her hands were softer than he would have thought. He schooled his face to seriousness and nodded to her but a sharp snicker escaped him one last time. “It’s just, I really never thought this would happen again. I feel like I’m going to wake up in the morning and Surana’s going to come tell me that we have to fight the dragon now.”

“That might be pleasant. I never fought the dragon. I was in a delicate way.” Morrigan brought his hand to her flat stomach and spread his fingers over her warm skin. “Let’s try to repeat the experience.”

“I’m starting to think that you’re eager,” Alistair said without thinking and grimaced. He half-expected Morrigan to laugh in his face at his presumption and pull her dress back on but she just arched her eyebrow more and nodded.

“’Tis been too long since I’ve enjoyed a man in my bed. A child makes everything a greater risk. You’ll learn that soon.” And before Alistair could really ponder that, before he could entertain the idea of being a father right from the beginning, Morrigan was pressing her mouth to his firmly.

It was like she’d punched a hole in a dam. Alistair pulled Morrigan against him, kissing her back hard, letting every moment of frustration he’d felt over the past few years pour out into a challenging, forceful kiss.

If he’d dreamed that Morrigan would become a gentle supplicant this time in his arms, that she would press against him and tremble like the handful of beautiful women he’d had in the years since he’d become king, he would have been sorely disappointed. Morrigan was even more forceful than she’d been years before when he’d merely closed his eyes and let her do what she wanted, hoping that he wasn’t actually tainting his soul by letting her touch him with her magic.

Alistair wasn’t disappointed. When he kissed his way down her body, past the full swell of her breasts, past the curve of her hips until he reached the heady center between her lean thighs, he felt invigorated by her hands clawing into his hair, by her approving moans. Morrigan was aggravating and amoral but she didn’t usually bother to lie, especially to him. She didn’t respect him enough to pretend that he was pleasing her if he wasn’t.

When he’d pulled a surprisingly quick orgasm from the soft folds of her slit, she’d pushed him away and eagerly helped him undress enough so that she could press down onto his cock. Her face was still as smugly pleased as it had been a decade before but Alistair thought that the look was probably mirrored on his own face as they coupled on the ground beside the bed, more frantically than he would have ever imagined.

The last thought that Alistair had before his release pulsed through him was an errant wish that Zevran was still poking around somewhere, that maybe he would catch sight of them and understand that the King of Ferelden didn’t need any help pleasing a woman, thank you very much.

Although he did wonder if Morrigan would be open to the idea of trying the illustration on the tenth page. Zevran’s notes had made it seem very doable.

 

In the years to come, the songs of King Alistair and Queen Morrigan’s love would be as romantic as they were ridiculous. There were a handful of true events mixed in with the most extravagant verses—they did have another son a year into their marriage, big and blond and cheerful even as a baby, and they did help the Inquisition in the harrowing battles the Herald fought over the years, some so outlandish that the songs were understatements. At one point Ferelden’s Queen did transform into a dragon and fight a horde of flying demons to protect Denerim, although she hadn’t leapt into action when the monsters were threatening the Chantry and she laughed when she heard that particular interpretation of her actions.

However they never spent hours drowning in the love shining from each other’s eyes. They never pined like wilting flowers when the other was apart. They certainly didn’t spend their nights whispering romantic poetry into each other’s ears as they made perfect, blessed love.

Instead they fought fairly often, although their barbed words were always softer with each other than they were with everybody else. They wrote each other frequently when they were apart, their letters filled with condescending advice and veiled insults, but always accompanied by some trinket or practical gift. And at night they worked their way through Zevran’s book, slowly filling it in with their own helpful hints until one day they felt satisfied that they could send it back, confident that they’d really discovered some new tricks. He’d been thrilled enough to send them the next volume.

When Varric told the story of their love, he would laugh and stress the practical aspects of it, fully knowing that nobody would listen to him. Even Cassandra didn’t like his version of the events and she’d been there the whole time. She much preferred the songs and the poetry and the passion of Ferelden’s greatest lovers, finally together despite all the forces of the world trying to keep them apart.

Varric got that. Nobody liked the truth. It was messy and inconvenient and sometimes didn’t make much sense. Everybody knew a story was better.

Especially a love story.


End file.
